Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


September 23rd 2017 in Microfiction

When Scott pulled up, Bill was sitting on the porch smoking a cigarette in the dark (the lights of his house going on and off with screeching and roaring filling the cul-de-sac). “Dude,” he said, “your house is going nuts.” “Yeah,” Bill responded. “The things in the closet, attic, basement, and surrounding forest are having a monster meeting. I think they’re tired of me not being scared and I don’t blame them.” “THAT doesn’t scare you?” Scott asked, watching the windows shake from the driveway. “Nope,” Bill responded, putting his cigarette out in the bucket of sand. “I went into accounting and then into tax law, but all I’ve ever wanted to do was paint. I sit around wondering if my life has any meaning whatsoever on a daily basis, and I’ve been medicating with scotch and television for years.” “Woah,” Scott said, his eyes wide as the driveway started to buckle (as if something was trying to push up from underneath). “The last time one of them materialized, I asked if I could sketch it,” Bill added. “It was the last straw.” “We should go,” Scott said quietly as an unearthly light shot up from the chimney into the skies above. “Yes, we should,” Bill said, nodding. “I feel bad about everything; they really try hard. Last time, they escalated things – occasionally drawing blood in some way or trying to throw me down the stairs.” Scott whistled, not knowing what to say. “I just thanked them for the pain that reminds me I’m still alive and can change ,” Bill finished, opening the car door and moving onto the passenger seat. “Gawd, they were pissed.” Scott floored it as the pieces of the roof starting flying off into the street.

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